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According to the Serge Lutens official website, when Sarrasins is “applied at night in a Moorish silence, it barely touches the skin…” Sarrasins made its mark when I applied one spray to my dry, ivory skin just below the wrist. The pale violet stain almost appears as a bruise, yet this is my secret to hold. This fragrance, however, is anything but a secret; a bombastic cloud of jasmine cut with grape jam fills the room. This white floral struts, tosses her hair, wears too much gold jewelry, and spends all day on her iphone. I was just about to dismiss Sarrasins as another hyper-feminine fruity-floral (albeit high quality), when suddenly, the initial romance receded to expose the underbelly of contemporary humanity: melting plastic, sweet animalic excess, and yes, feces. A monster.
12 November, 2012